Hood Up, Eyes Down
by noiriarti
Summary: After years of convincing, the adults have finally convinced Yuri to go to a real high school. At this point, he just wants to get out. So, he figures if he keeps his head down, everyone will just ignore him. While trying to dodge Yuri's Angels and the guys who are convinced he's gay, Yuri runs into a lone wolf, Otabek, and starts lying. The only thing left to do is figure out why.
1. A Really, Really Bad Feeling

Wow... My first YoI fanfic! Be warned, this story will have elements of a gay relationship. Don't like, don't read, I guess. I appreciate any questions/comments/complaints/suggestions!  
I hope you enjoy it!

Also, I'm sorry the first few chapters will be short, but they seemed like natural stopping points. It'll get better in the future. Hopefully.

Disclaimer: All the canon characters belong to the fabulous Kubo!

* * *

He knew the moment he started to connect with Otabek. It was like that moment when you're diving off a tall cliff into the ocean. The air hits you and, suddenly, without warning, the small voice in your mind whispers nonononostopthiswasabadideastopstopgobackgoback. And then you start falling, which might just be the best and the worst feeling in the world at the same time. And when you hit the water, you either slip between the molecules, or you belly flop and feel the burn of your mistake. At this point, Yurio was asking himself the million dollar question: which would it be? His eyes flitted up toward Otabek, who was washing the blood off his hands in the sink. He knew he was taking a risk, and he prayed to every god of which he knew that he wouldn't flop.

Two weeks ago

Lilia, Yakov, and his parents had been convincing him for a long, long time. This was the third year they had talked about it, and, frankly, it was a pain. Go to high school, Yuratchka! You ought to be around kids your age! He already had Mila and his rinkmates. Sure, they weren't exactly his age, but he didn't really see the difference. And anyway, he was taking online classes and passing with cursory A minuses and some B pluses. Yuri just didn't see the point of working his ass off to deal with a bunch of snotty brats. But if you take out ten liters out of a small lake a day, you'll dry it out eventually. The same thing happened with Yuri, which is how he found himself applying with his parents. He looked out through the main office's glass into the main hallway of the school. There were clumps of people clogging up the hallway and chattering so loudly he could hear the murmur of voices from the thick glass. The wooden door next to him creaked open as his mother and father stepped out. His mother's face stretched into a strained smile. The air of an actress still hung around her, the sort of gloating and overbearing. Like she was better than everyone, and better than coming to Yuri's practices and performances.

"You begin class tomorrow." A chubby woman followed them, her smile and voice radiating through the room like a ray of sunshine. It was so fake and sickly sweet, Yuri found it downright disgusting.

"Come on, Yuri. Stand up." A viselike, manicured hand gripped his arm and tried to drag him up from his slumping position in the chair. Yuri glared at his mother and stood up normally. About two minutes later, after accepting a whirlwind of information, Yuri stood outside the office, clutching his new schedule.

He had a bad feeling about this. A really, really bad feeling.


	2. The Sweater

Here's the next chapter! I hope you guys enjoy it. I appreciate any and all feedback! Especially questions and suggestions :)

* * *

 _What does a guy wear to his first day of class?_ Yuri looked at his tiger sweater. It was so beautiful… but, it was flashy, too. So were most of his clothes. Maybe he could wear a simple black practice outfit? That was acceptable. Plain black jeans, a plain black shirt, and a plain, black, chunky sweater. But he really wanted to make a first impression that showed his real self. And, at the same time, he knew he wasn't anyone at this school. What would people think of him if he wore a flashy sweater? Would they notice it was him if he wore his trademark style? Would there be a Yuri's Angel anywhere to recognize him? A thought crossed his mind, one which he wanted to snuff out immediately. Would the Yuri's Angel spread his grades? Would they talk about the way he acted off the ice? School drama? His head was starting to hurt. Why had he agreed to this, again? After steadying his breathing, he shot a glance toward his closet. He stuffed one of his favorite animal-print sweaters into his backpack. _Just in case._

The school was built dark. The walls were tall and imposing, the dark rocks glimmering in the morning light.

"C'mon Yuratchka. You're going to be late," His grandpa smiled at him and patted his shoulder, "It'll all be alright." Would it, though? What would they say about him?

"Right, sorry…" The car door opened and slammed shut. His plain black boots hit the plain gray pavement with a thump. Several students milled around the parking lot, barely shadows in the dark morning.

 _I don't get up at 7:30, even for competitions. Who heard of going to school that early?_ He thought as he blew out a sigh that clouded up the air in front of him. He loved Russia, but he most definitely did not love the way the temperature dropped below zero when it was dark. After a few moments of drifting through his thoughts, he realized he was trying to think about anything but the day ahead of him. In fact, he had been procrastinating so much he hadn't even looked at his schedule. A hand snaked to his satchel and dug around for a few moments before it dragged out a crumpled flower of a paper. Yuri's emerald eyes squinted in the dark, trying to make out the letters etched into it. The reduced schedule his parents tailored to fit his practice times left him with only four in-person classes and a lunch period. History, Chemistry, English, and… Gym? He was a world class skater. Why the hell did he need a gym period? Yuri could only suppose it was because he needed it to check the box, but it just seemed odd that they couldn't make an exception.

An arm whipped into his pocket and extracted his phone. Yuri's fingers furiously tapped the screen and he put it to his cheek. Five deep tones played, their metallic noise ringing through his ears.

"The user isn't currently available. Please leave a message." Yuri gritted his teeth. Either his mother intentionally dismissed his call or turned her phone off.

 _Some motherly instinct_ , Yuri thought to himself. His eyes scanned the lobby as he leaned against the wall.

"Hey… Mom. Uh, I checked my schedule. Why do I have gym? God knows I don't need it," he paused for a while, "well, call me back when you can. And then fix this," another pause, "please. Thanks. Bye, Mom." He pressed the red 'End Message' button and turned off his phone.

"Bye, Mommy!" came a voice behind him. A group of guys was standing next to him, cackling. They stood in a gaggle in the middle of the hallway, moving in some arbitrary direction.

"Momma's boy," remarked a tall, muscular blonde, leading the group away with a sneer.

Great. Just goddamn great.


	3. The New Yuri

History had always been one of Yuri's favorite topics. Something about idea of hormonal idiots running several countries with large armies while ignoring their subjects was amusing and irritating to Yuri. Now, this was not to say that Yuri liked History in school. He found the idea of learning only about the "historically relevant" events a steaming pile of bullshit. History wasn't just a bunch of leaders passing bills and decrees. It was about the dumb little details, like that time Nero called a bunch of his advisors to the palace for what they thought was an execution but was actually a drag performance. But high school history was just atrocious. Everything felt like one, long drone. At least, in this high school, the teacher was making an effort. But, no one was buying what he was selling. The stuff he was forced to teach were just too bland. Looking around the classroom, Yuri knew there was not a single person paying attention. There was a group of guys to his left, generally dicking around and whispering to each other. From the third row of desks alone, he could count five phones on under the table. All in all, it was a complete headache.

By the time History limped to a close, Yuri was pretty much reaching peak emo. He could say the words "I crave death," and it wouldn't be too much of an exaggeration. And it got worse and worse as the day passed. Chem was a bunch of tedious note-taking and memorization, two things he particularly hated. Since he had started competing, Yuri had taken to learning English, Japanese, and Spanish (totaling to one Slavic language, one Germanic language, one Asian language, and one Latin language), so the English Yuri heard was the gurgling of people struggling to learn a new language. Math was, well, it was something.

It turned out Yuri had the (mis)fortune of sharing the class with the blonde guy from earlier. When he looked at the guy more closely, Yuri realized he was fairly plain. His eyes were just a little too small and his nose was just a little too big to be attractive. Maybe it was just the way he squinted at everything, or the scowl he was fixing at the board. Of course, when Yuri walked in, the blond guy stared at him and whispered to a group of guys around him, who promptly burst out laughing. He swore he could hear a muttering of "Momma's boy." _Fuck me,_ thought Yuri. He looked around and sighed. At least no one else was laughing at him. In fact, half the people were taking their papers out and the other half was staring intently at their phones. After collapsing into an empty desk, he looked around at the others. Yuri noted several things. First, there was no teacher in the class. Second, at least a quarter of the class was missing. He made a mental note to ask the teacher. He pulled a plain black binder out of his backpack and set it on the desk.

"Hello," said a voice behind him. Yuri whipped around to find the stereotype of a dark, mysterious stranger. He also wanted to slap himself for thinking that. The boy next to him was relatively short (but still tall compared to Yuri) and built leanly. A leather jacket was draped over his shoulders, its black leather complementing the dark, torn jeans which hugged his legs. An undercut wrapped around his head, pushing his already prominent cheekbones even more forward. His dark visage extended to his hair and eyes, which both seemed to be dark as obsidian. Overall, the stranger looked like he had stepped off the cover of some teen magazine highlighting bad boys. That wasn't to say he looked standoffish. Quite the contrary, the guy's facial expression was completely blank, which relaxed Yuri for some reason. At least there wouldn't be any fake smiles from this one.

"Hello," Yuri ventured, raising an eyebrow in vexed confusion.

"That happens to be my seat." Yuri caught a glimmer of movement from the corner and subtly shifted his gaze to the blonde guy to his left, who was trying to point to Yuri covertly (and failing at that). The fact that he was being watched only made Yuri question himself even more. Every instinct and part of his personality was telling him that he should tell the guy that this was his seat now and that he should fuck off, but every iota of Yuri's mind was thinking about the repercussions. The blonde bitch to his left would probably never shut up about the ill-tempered shorty, and the guy to his right would probably never let him copy.

"Sorry," Yuri muttered, moving a seat to the left, dragging his bag behind him. A small part of Yuri felt defeated. Where was the guy who could roast Yuuri to next Tuesday? Or the one who called JJ's fiancée a bitch? He obviously wasn't here anymore. The fact that he didn't have power, influence or, well, anything, at this school meant he had no right to complain or act out. A voice cut off his train of thought.

"Are you new here?" asked the guy to his right, cocking his head to one side.

"Wha- Oh. Yeah." Yuri looked back down to his backpack, taking out a few pencils in an effort to avoid eye contact.

"My name is Otabek Altin." His mouth twisted into what could be considered a smile if one was scrutinizing it under a microscopic lens.

"Plisetsky. Yuri Plisetsky."


End file.
